


Designated Driver

by AdamantSteve



Series: Dutch Courage [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol, Breakfast, Caring, Drunk!phil, Drunkenness, Flirting, Get Together, M/M, not taking advantage, responsible!Clint, sober!clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint takes a very drunk Phil home and puts him to bed.<br/>Rated Teen just for the drunkenness and rather excessive flirtation on Phil's part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Designated Driver

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of nowhere really, I just really wanted to play with Drunk!Phil and have responsible!Clint taking care of him.  
> beta read by [Dunicha :D](http://dunicha.tumblr.com)

“You’re so cute.”

“ _Phil_.”

“I mean it! You _are_.”

 

Clint rolled his eyes to the heavens. He’d wonder at how much Phil’d had to drink except he’d been there for every one of the rounds Thor had insisted on buying. Thor, Natasha and Sitwell were hard drinkers on their own, put together they made the most lethal cocktail (literally). 

 

Phil was heavy against his side, leaning on him harder than he needed to, surely. Clint had drawn the short straw - designated driver - but everyone else had filtered off to other places with other people leaving him looking after a very socially lubricated Phil Coulson. A Phil Coulson who was currently not so subtly feeling up Clint’s chest.

 

“You don’t even know, Clint. You think you know,” Phil narrowed his eyes and shook his head, “ _but you don’t know._ ”

Clint laughed, because really, what else was there he could do in the face of _this_? “What don’t I know, sir?”

Phil was somehow blindsided by this question but then recovered in the way only a drunk person could, declaring with authority and a finger pointing into the middle of Clint’s chest: “Cute.”

 

The car wasn’t too far away, but dragging Phil’s drunk ass to it while he tried to grab Clint’s regrettably _not_ drunk one was proving difficult. “Is that so?” 

Phil was completely fixated on Clint’s butt now, softly patting it and then stroking it like a pet. “Best ass.” 

“What’s that?” 

“You have the best one. We had a boat. Vote.”

“You had a _vote_? Who?”

Phil stopped pawing at Clint’s chest and gestured wildly as though it was obvious. “The... guys. Level sixes. You won best ass. I wanna bite it.”

Clint couldn’t help but laugh at that swift about-turn in conversation.

“Oh boy, I think Sober Phil is going to be really mad at you.” 

 

They arrived at the car and Clint detached himself from Phil to prop him against it. “Sober Phil is an idiot,” Phil declared sternly but giggling when Clint patted his pockets for the car keys. 

“No he’s not,” admonished Clint. 

He found the keys and held Phil up with an arm as he unlocked the car. “Yes he is,” Phil promised. “I’m just telling the truth! I might be drunk but the truth’s the _truth_ , Clint.”

 

Clint pulled Phil into his arms since he looked like he was about to slide downwards, opening the door and sitting him in the back seat in a surprisingly fluid motion. 

“It’s the truth,” Phil declared again as Clint put his seatbelt on and closed the door. 

 

He started the car and pulled out. Phil was _really_ wasted. “Go to sleep ok? I’ll wake you up when I get you home. You gonna be ok?”

“I’m always ok when you’re with me. You got my back.”

“That’s right buddy, I got your back. Let me know if you’re gonna be sick alright?”

Clint looked in the rear view mirror but Phil had taken him at his word and fallen asleep. 

 

-

 

“Wake up. Phil. You’re home. C’mon, you can’t sleep in the car.”

Phil blinked awake and then grinned when he saw that it was Clint prodding him awake. “Hi,” he said.

“C’mon, out.” 

Phil half-fell out of the car, deftly caught by Clint. “Where are we?”

“Jesus, Phil. We’re at your house.”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

A light turned on across the street. Phil was being pretty loud for 4am even if it was a Friday night. “Let’s just get you inside, ok?” 

“Will you kiss me inside?”

“We’ll see.”

 

The car blipped as Clint locked it and he took most of Phil’s weight to lead him to the house. Phil fumbled in his own pockets for the door key, handing it to Clint with a proud grin. “Thank you for looking after me,” Phil said, sweet and earnest as anything. Clint couldn’t help his smile. He got the locks undone and got them inside, propping Phil against a wall before quickly looking for the bedroom, finding it and then guiding Phil to it before he slid onto the floor.

 

He sat Phil on the edge of the bed and made to leave; but it was the least he could do to put him to bed properly. They’d both done as much for one another in various states of injury in the past. Being crazy-drunk was practically the same thing. A glass of water, take off Phil’s shoes and then he’d go. Come Monday morning this would all be forgotten in the mists of a weekend long hangover. 

 

Clint sighed and knelt to take off Phil’s shoes. Phil wiggled his toes and when Clint looked up, he was grinning. “You gonna help at all? C’mon, I know you’re not that drunk.” 

“But I like when you do it.”

Clint held in a sigh. “You’re killing me here,” he muttered under his breath.

 

Clint got the rest of Phil’s clothes off of his unhelpfully floppy body as he beamed happily at him, draping them as carefully as he could over a chair. He resisted the urge to find hangers for them. Phil could hang up his own damn clothes.

 

“Kiss me,” Phil demanded once Clint had gotten him free of his pants.

“ _Phil_. I’m not going to kiss you.” 

“Please.”

Clint swallowed and looked at his hands. “I don’t think you really want that.”

“I do. I promise. Are you worried about sober me? Cause sober me wants it too.”

“Phil.” That wasn’t _fair_.

“No, he does. I do. And I’m him! So.” He looked at Clint like that was the most compelling evidence imaginable.

“Your judgement right now is severely impaired-”

“No it’s not,” Phil protested, looking belligerent.

“-And I’m not about to take advantage of you like that. I don’t think you really want that.” 

“No, but Clint-”

“Phil! No. Ask me again when you aren’t drunk off your ass.”

“And you’d say yes?”

“We’ll see.”

Phil gawped at him. “Really? I’m gonna call him right now!!”

“What? Call who?”

 

Phil’s phone was on the bed next to him and he grabbed it, dialling something - Clint guessed it went to answerphone. “Hi, Phil? It’s me, you. From the... past? I’m drunk and Clint won’t kiss me cause he doesn’t believe you like him? I don’t know. You have to ask him, he says. Right?” He looked at Clint, covering the mouthpiece. “Will you talk to him?” 

 

Clint ran a hand across his face and shrugged. How was this happening? “Sure.” Phil handed him the phone. “Hi, Phil,” Clint began, feeling pretty ridiculous and wishing for the fiftieth time that night that he was at least a little bit drunk for this. “Drunk-you tells me you want to make out with me but I told him I gotta get permission from sober-you. So when you listen to this, if you haven’t died from embarrassment I guess you should maybe give me a call? Although if you don’t bring this up I guess I’ll keep it to myself too, so don’t worry.” He looked back at Phil who reached out for the phone. “Thanks! Bye. It’s Phil by the way. Phil Coulson,” Phil told the phone, mashing the keypad to end the call. 

 

“Ok?” Clint asked. Phil nodded. 

“Alright, get into bed. I’m gonna get you some water.” He went back downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water and some aspirin, also fetching the little trashcan from the living room just in case Phil got sick. 

 

Phil was out cold when Clint got back, laid sprawled across the bed in his underwear and socks with a goofy smile still on his face. Clint put everything by the side of the bed before looking through the wardrobe for another blanket to put over him so he wouldn’t get cold. He sighed to himself as he surveyed the scene. How different Phil’s bedroom was from how he’d imagined it to be. He switched off the light and went home.

 

-

 

Clint woke up to his phone ringing and answered it without really looking at the caller ID. “‘llo?” 

“Clint?” It was Phil. Last night suddenly bloomed in his memory. “This is uh. _Mostly sober_ Phil?”

Oh crap. Clint laughed, going for carefree but coming out nervous. “Mostly sober?” 

“Can you drive me to breakfast? I need coffee. And I can’t drive yet, I tested myself.” And of course Phil had an at-home blood-alcohol tester. Clint bit his lip for a moment. “Sure. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Enough time for a shower.

“Ok. Uh... see you soon.”

“Bye,” Clint pressed ‘end’ and stared at the ceiling for a moment. This was happening. Whatever this was. 

 

He rang the bell at 10.25 and Phil answered, looking less awful than Clint had expected, considering his performance only a few hours earlier. “Feeling alright?” 

“God,” Phil said. “Put coffee in me.” 

Clint laughed and nodded his head. “C’mon then. Do I have to strap you in the back this time?” Phil just groaned in response.

 

 

The diner was pretty full - breakfasts of greasy, salty goodness toted by already harried looking women amongst the tables filled with mostly older people. Phil was a regular enough that unordered coffee arrived with their waitress as they sat in a booth. He drank it like it was the elixir of life itself, and perhaps it was just psychosomatic but colour did seem to return to his cheeks immediately upon drinking it. 

“Does that not burn your mouth?” Clint asked, marvelling as Phil finished the entire mug before the waitress had even gotten all the way back to the kitchen. 

Phil shook his head. “Nah, too tough. Hot liquids, I’m immune to them.” 

Clint snorted. “Are you still drunk?” 

Phil grimaced. “Maybe? A little bit. More coffee and I’ll be good to go.” 

“Go where?” 

“Back to bed? No, I don’t mean like that! Oh god. What am I doing?”

“You got in a four way drinking competition with Sitwell, Natasha and _Thor_. I’m kinda shocked your liver hasn’t hulked out and trashed Manhattan.”

 

The waitress returned and refilled the coffee, taking their orders (scrambled eggs for Clint, ‘a mountain of bacon’ for Phil) and then letting Phil just keep the jug for the table. 

 

“Alright, so. I listened to the voicemail from our drunken idiot friend,” Phil said, carefully looking out of the window. Clint waited patiently to hear what he had to say. “And I’m really sorry. That was just so-” Clint expected him to say ‘unprofessional’ or ‘uncalled for’ but he went with: “ _-douchey_ of me. I feel like such an ass.”

Clint smiled and tried to keep the disappointment he was suddenly filled with out of his voice. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” 

 

“It’s _not_ fine. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” Phil swallowed, and Clint kind of wanted this to be over now so he could just go home and go over how he should have just thrown caution to the wind and taken his one chance with Phil before he’d gotten all proper about it. But Phil wasn’t done.

“However. I...” He stopped and drank some more coffee. “Jeez. There’s a reason it’s easier to say things when you’re drunk.”

“I know. Phil, it’s fine, I-” but Phil cut him off.

“I meant it.” He stopped as soon as he said that, as though he didn’t realise he’d said the words til they were out. “I mean, I didn’t mean... well, I don’t remember everything of what I said last night but whatever it was, I probably meant it, unless it was bad, in which case disregard. But I meant everything I probably said about being attracted to you and wanting to go on a date or something, but if you aren’t interested then that’s perfectly understandable and I can get you a new handler, it’s really no trouble. I just-” 

Clint stopped him by gently but firmly putting his hand over Phil’s. “A date.”

 

Phil looked up at him with his jaw slack and this ridiculous little expression of surprise on his face. “Date?”

“I’ll go on a date with you.”

“You’ll go on a date with me.” 

Clint took a deep breath. “Yep. A date. Maybe... an alcohol free date? To start with. Just the first few though. Drunk you had some good ideas.”

“A date,” Phil repeated.

 

The waitress arrived with their food and Phil came back to the reality of bacon and more coffee, a tiny smile on his face that didn’t seem to want to go away. Clint had one to match.

 

He watched Phil demolish his actual mountain of bacon and worked a little slower at his own eggs. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

Phil winced. “Was it awful?” 

Clint shook his head, still smiling. “Nah, it was illuminating." He stole a piece of Phil's bacon and picked at it as he continued nonchalantly. "I was wondering... do I get a trophy or anything for having the best butt as voted for by SHIELD?”

“Oh _god_.” 


End file.
